


14:4:21

by Bes-bev (kerys)



Series: Kusak Squad [2]
Category: Star Wars: Rise of Empire Era - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-31 22:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 13,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerys/pseuds/Bes-bev





	1. 14:4:21

Outer Rim, Pelgrin Sector, Tarna System, Janteris, Kalesa Province

Laar struggled back to consciousness, naked as the day he was decanted and face down on a frigid permacrete floor that was shot through with decorative veins of durasteel. Shivering, he pushed himself onto hands and knees and squinted into the darkness, taking stock of his injuries since he could see nothing of his surroundings. Except for the probable concussion, he seemed remarkably hale, with nothing more than a few flesh wounds. Judging by the degree of his hunger and thirst, he guessed he’d been here at least a local day… maybe two. Turning to sit, he rubbed at his brow with one hand, flinching uselessly at the muted booms of ordnance that sounded like so much distant thunder.

Listening to the explosions, his last memories trickled back into his awareness, and he stopped breathing for a long moment, holding both hands before his eyes as if he could see them through the darkness. Eventually he brought them back to his face and smelled the dried, flaking blood there… Remembered the mine flinging Aliik into the air. Remembered the awful, impossible silence as he sprinted half a click across the battlefield, skidding to halt on his knees at his brother’s side. Remembered the horrible, shredded mess of half a leg. Remembered his desperate groping for Aliik’s femoral artery as it gorged out his brother’s precious blood into the vivid blue grasses and the dull red earth. Remembered the way the vessel kept snaking out of his fingers as he struggled to tie it off. He couldn’t remember if he’d succeeded… After a deep, shuddering inhalation, he breathed out a single word: “ _Vod_?”

When no reply came, he closed his eyes for a long moment, making the darkness his own. Having gathered himself, he cautiously lifted one hand above his head as he slowly gained his feet, then stretched his arms out to his sides and began the tedious process of scouting his perimeter.


	2. 14:4:22

Minutes passed like hours. Hours crept by like days. But eventually, the slightest slivers of light began to trickle in through narrow, deep set windows high above, limning the large room’s furnishings in a paler shade of darkness. In the very centre of the room, far from where Laar’s explorations had taken him thus far, he could just make out a shape suspended a short distance above the floor. He frowned at the silhouette and felt foolish for wishing he had the sensory enhancements of his _buy’ce_ as he carefully moved that way.

After a moment of concentrating on the shape, he was able to make out a humanoid hanging by its wrists, one foot dangling little more than half a meter above a grate in the floor, the other leg a ruin of tattered flesh ending above the knee. “’Tad!” Laar cried out his brother’s childhood nickname as he rushed to his side, reaching into the crease where his whole leg met his body and pressing deep to find the thready pulse there. After urinating on his brother’s stump in a desperate attempt to clean the terrible wound, Laar planted his feet wide and manoeuvred the other clone onto his shoulders, taking Aliik’s weight off of the restraints. The sniper collapsed forward over Laar’s head, as much as his bindings would allow.

The day crawled on. Laar would hold Aliik on his shoulders for endless hours, quietly singing the songs of the clones and the Mandalorians, before his own muscles shuddered and cramped and he had to slip away from his brother and rest a while before taking up his burden again. Slowly, the light changed, then faded, and they were left in darkness again.

Late in the night, as Laar was easing Aliik back onto his shoulders, the sniper groaned and shifted his weight, trying to sit up a little.

“ _Vod_?” His voice was a ragged whisper. Laar could actually hear him trying to swallow to force saliva production.

“It’s Laar. I’m here.”

“You were singing.”

He chuckled softly. “You know me.”

“Well, stop it,” he croaked, “You’re wasting water. And you sound awful… _Me’ti_? Where the hell are we?”

“I don’t know. Big permacrete room. Fixed durasteel tables with restraints. Drains in the floor. Two hoses with no controls. One blast door that looks to only open from outside. Nothing portable. I woke up here somewhat over one local day ago. No one’s been in. I don’t think they have vid surveillance, though they could be listening, or I could be wrong.”

“My leg’s bad?”

“ _Lek_.” He could feel the slight movement of Aliik’s nod of acceptance.

“Force, I’m tired. Cold.”

“You stepped on a mine. Lost a lot of blood. And I think our hosts forgot to pay their utilities.”

“The others?”

“I dunno. They were fine, last I saw. But it was really hot out there, and I don’t know how long we’ve been out.”

Aliik finally processed that the tech had been unconscious. “You’re injured?”

Laar could feel him trying to shimmy off of his shoulders. He reached up and grabbed his hips.

“Stop that! I’m fine. A mild… maybe moderate concussion. The usual flesh wounds. You hang like that too long and you’ll suffocate.”

“That might not be a bad idea, _vod_.”

“Shut up. I’m gonna need you to help me think of a way out of here. Hate for Cabur & Rang to have to come after us.”

Aliik snorted. “You should worry about yourself. I’m a liability at this point. Besides, Cabur and Rang need to get off their _shebse_ once in a while.”

Laar didn’t bother to answer that, struggling to keep his anger in check. After several long moments of silence, Aliik spoke again.

“Why do you think they strung up the invalid, and not the able?”

“I don’t know. No practical reason. Maybe psychological? Maybe just to see what we’d do.”

“Yeah. They probably think you’re an idiot, too.” He voice was full of affection.

Laar sighed, spread his feet a little further and reached up behind Aliik, lacing his fingers together at the small of his brother’s back as he closed his eyes and settled in to rest for the remainder of the night.


	3. 14:4:23

The blast of water hit Laar like a landspeeder, flinging him away from Aliik who cried out as his injured leg was wrenched, then screamed as his restraints stopped his fall, dropping his weight back on his abused arms.

Seeing his brother twisting and jerking in the pummeling stream, Laar surged to his feet and rushed the dark figure directing the hose. Its attention returned to him, and he was battered back to the floor, beaten to stillness over long minutes. Throughout the ordeal, he lay with one arm shielding his face, masking him as he drank his fill.

Finally the water stopped. He lay motionless as the silence stretched, until Aliik’s broken voice called to him.

“ _Vod_?!”

He lifted a hand to calm his brother as he climbed back to his feet, moving stiffly.

He made his way back to Aliik’s side, felt at his ragged stump for any signs of fresh bleeding, and looked up into his face, eyes full of apology that he doubted the sniper could see in the dim morning light. Then slowly, carefully, he began to climb up his brother’s body, forcing himself to ignore the gasps and groans he elicited as his weight added to the tearing agony in Aliik’s arms. Finally, his hands found the chain and he was able to ease his weight off of the other clone. Dipping his head, he met Aliik’s lips with his own in what seemed a horribly timed, chaste kiss. Aliik’s brow furrowed with puzzlement until Laar let a trickle of water past his lips. Aliik opened his mouth with a desperate moan and Laar passed the mouthful of water to his brother before dropping to land on the grate with a pained grunt.

“I’m gonna give your arms a rest for a few minutes after all that, but then I’ve got to sit for a while, _ner vod_.” Aliik nodded as Laar moved into place for his brother to sit on his shoulders again. “Sorry I couldn’t get you more water…”

“Hell,” he croaked, “That was genius, as far as I’m concerned. By the way, the wake-up call at this joint sucks. Somebody should say something to the management.”

Laar grinned at his brother’s impossible sense of humour, and his few minutes turned into several more hours as he once again fell asleep on his feet.

* * *

Aliik awoke with a start around midday, shivering and confused. “ _Vode_? Alor?” He thrashed against his bonds. “Hey! I’m stuck!”

Laar woke wide-eyed and heart racing as his brother was suddenly fighting him. “ _Ner vod_! _Ner vod_ , calm down!’

“Laar? Hey… get me down from here! I’m stuck.”

“I know, _vod_. These bastards strung you up like fresh kill…” His own words left him feeling gut punched, and he swallowed awkwardly several times before he could go on. “You were hurt, _vod_. You’ve got a fever.” Despite the cold, he felt sweat trickle down his back from the contact with the startling heat of Aliik’s injured leg.

“Force! You gotta get me down from here, Laar! You don’t understand! I’m stuck!”

Laar fought down a sob and leaned his head back against Aliik’s belly for a long minute before easing out from under his brother. “Easy, _vod_. I’m gonna try to get you down, but it’s gonna hurt first. _Tayli’bac_? I gotta climb back up to the chain, and it’s gonna hurt…”

The sniper muttered something for a minute and struggled weakly against the restraints. Then Laar began climbing. He went with less care and more speed than before, struggling not to be distracted, not to hear his brother’s sobs, not to feel his own weakness. When he reached the chain, he climbed up a short distance, tangling his legs painfully in the taut length, and dropping upside down to feel at Aliik’s bonds. The cuffs’ hinges were protected from tampering, and he couldn’t find a likely method of cracking them without tools. With a sigh, he pulled himself upright and climbed on, muscles trembling violently with the combination of hunger, thirst, cold, and exhaustion.

After what seemed an eon, he reached the ceiling, and instead of the chain’s end, there was a hole through which it continued upward. Pulling himself as high as he could go, he gripped the chain with one hand and both feet and he snaked his arm up through the egress, following the chain until he felt it curl over a cog. Bending his arm a moment to help support his weight, he tightened his grip with his feet and reached his other arm into the ceiling. He traced the mechanism that controlled the chain, made a mental image and worked out exactly what moved where to what effect. Struggling on the verge of collapse, he managed to work a bolt loose and began to yank on a cog the size of his head. After nearly ten exhausting minutes, he slid that cog out far enough that one it supported was freed. The chain dropped, jerking him with it.

Aliik clattered to the floor with a cry as Laar caught himself on the edge of the ceiling by his fingertips. When the chain finally came to a dancing halt, Laar grabbed it with his feet, then got his hands back on it and climbed down to sit, curled in a quivering heap, next to his sobbing brother.

When he could finally gather the energy to move again, he reached for the sniper and rolled him onto his back, startled by his silence and the laxity in his limbs. He tucked two fingers under his jaw and felt the weak but steady pulse for several minutes before moving on to inspect him for any fresh injuries from the fall. Finding nothing obvious, he returned to the mangled leg, urinating on it once more and refusing to notice the faint, sweet smell of infection. He hauled Aliik into a sitting position and felt at the joints of his arms, forcing his shoulders back into socket and rubbing vigorously at his purpling hands to keep the blood that had rushed back in from pooling there. He probed at the knotted muscles of his shoulders and back, trying to massage them back into some semblance of normalcy before working his arms and his remaining leg through simple motion exercises.

By the time he finished, he was shaking with fatigue. He dragged Aliik a couple of meters away from the grate, almost at the end of the chain’s slack. Settling himself to sit with his back against the enclosed side of a table, he pulled his brother up to lean back against his chest, then curled his arms around him protectively as he drifted back to sleep.


	4. 14:4:24

He awoke with a jolt, lying on one side, aching everywhere and tasting ozone. Aliik was sprawled across his legs, making soft, pained sounds. A moment later, he saw the electricity before it hit: watched helplessly as it skittered across the floor from each wall until it reached them and sent their limbs dancing bonelessly. The third shock sent him to oblivion.

* * *

The next time he awoke, he found himself curled on the grate, cold and wet, his hands bound before him with stuncuffs. He’d never imagined his teeth hurting before, but now he doubted it was a sensation he was likely to forget. After a moment, he struggled onto hands and knees, shaking his head to clear it as he settled back onto his heels, eyes searching the darkness for his brother. He could see an irregular form lying on one of the tables, halfway across the room. Rising unsteadily, he started that way when the stuncuffs stalled him. With a growl, he pushed aside the pain and continued towards Aliik. The power was increased exponentially and he was suddenly face first on the floor, blood streaming from his broken nose as he watched a pair of dark boots stroll up just outside of reach.

It seemed like a long time before he was able to sit up again, spitting blood at those selfsame boots. He looked up at the shrouded, looming figure as he wiped the back of one hand across his mouth and chin.

“I don’t know what you hope to get from us. We’re SpecOps. We don’t know anything about regular troop movements except inasmuch as they might complement or interfere with our own objectives, which in this case was _supposed_ to be not at all. You know our last objective.” He stated that with a cocky grin and an insolent shrug. “We don’t know our next objective. Twenty-seven there barely knows his own designation at this point. So if you have questions, go ahead and ask them. I’ll give you my RNN. Hell, I’ll give you his, too. But we don’t know anything else, and nothing you can do can possibly change that.”

The figure watched him for several long moments. The only sounds in the room were occasional, quiet moans from Aliik, and Laar’s own heartbeat, thundering in his ears. Laar got the impression that the figure was amused by his bravado.

“What was the designation of your unit and operation.” The Basic was flawless and the voice sounded Ubese. But then, anything talking through an Ubese modulator sounded Ubese. “How many members were on your team. How many were clones. If any were not clones, what were they: species and gender. What was the designation of each member of your team, and what was the primary function of each. What were your rendezvous points. What was your exit strategy. What were your various backups on each of those points. These are the things you will tell me. If you do not, I will cause your ‘ _vod_ ’ considerably more pain. If you do, I will allow my medical staff to attend his wounds and treat the infection before it kills him.”

Laar forced himself to disregard the words. He drew himself up to attention, staring intently at Aliik, and began the recitation that brought back memories of his final weeks of training. Memories of pain and terror and betrayal. He took comfort in the memories, in knowing what he could endure. He wrapped that knowledge around him like a favourite cloak, and steeled himself for what was to come.

“Private. Ar-Cee-Aught-One-Two-Six.”

The interrogator regarded him a moment, shook its head as if in disgust, and gestured toward the darkness at its back. Several sullen blue lights appeared, resolving into the photoreceptors of a GH-7 medunit as it advanced towards Aliik’s prone form. Simultaneously, a spotlight anchored to an EG-6 flared to life above the injured clone. Laar blinked rapidly against the sudden light, until the GH inadvertently moved between him and the tableau.

“Don’t obstruct the commando’s view of his brother. We wouldn’t want to be cruel.”

The GH whirled back to the other side of its “patient,” continuing its preliminary assessment. As the droid worked, the figure turned back to Laar, tilting its head to one side.

“Shall we try once more before it begins? What was the designation of your unit?”

“Private. Ar-Cee-Aught-One-Two-Six.” He watched intently as the little droid sped over, pausing at the figure’s side.

“Sir. Hypovolemic shock is noted. Body temperature is subnormal. Pulse rate is rapid and thready. Respiration rate is depressed. Blood pressure is dangerously low. Subject is also suffering from severe dehydration, anaemia, and hypoglycaemia. I fear that sepsis is or will be a complicating factor. Permission to stabilize subject prior to session?”

“Do only what you must to ensure short term survival. We can’t have him better off after our ministrations.”

“Affirmative.” Laar watched as the little droid placed an intravenous catheter and began administering fluids and medications. He kept his eyes away from Aliik’s leg and the vivid red streaks that climbed up to his hip from the mangled, blackening flesh above his knee. Instead, he watched his brother’s sunken eyes and fluttering lashes, his cracked, pale lips: those features which mongrels saw as identical to every other clone, but that he recognized as completely and uniquely Aliik’s.

* * *

After an hour of silence from all concerned, Aliik groaned loudly and attempted to lift one bound hand as he squinted up at the light gleaming above him. Slanting his gaze at the restraint on his wrist he groaned again and dropped his hand the ten centimetres back to the cold table, muttering, “Kriff. This place has the worst accommodations of any resort I’ve ever visited.” Raising his voice, he called out to the impenetrable darkness outside his bubble of blinding light, “ _Vod_? You still there?”

“Always.”

“Looks like we have company.”

“Looks like.”

“Why do I have a feeling I’m not going to like this med droid for long?”

“Tinny’s treating your hypovolemia so you don’t die before I break.”

Aliik barked a hoarse, guttural laugh. “Wasn’t it Vau played this game with you once before?”

“You know it was.”

“Then I get to live forever.”

“That’s how I read the situation.”

The figure’s modulated voice interrupted with a distinctive bemused tone. “This is all very touching, but I’m afraid we have an interrogation to commence. Medic? Shall I take your subject’s elevated spirits to indicate that he’s ready for this session?”

Aliik’s features drew together. “Ubese?” he asked his brother, as the GH answered its master with an “Affirmative” that sounded almost reluctant.

“ _Sounds_ like.”

As the med droid approached Aliik’s IV with a syringe of blue fluid, he took a deep breath and blew it out as he closed his eyes. “No questions for me, huh? Guess I just gotta lay back and _feel_?”

Laar watched as every muscle in his brother’s body went rigid. The tech’s heart stopped for an instant and his eyes closed briefly, as he called back, “Yeah. You always were the lucky one.”

Aliik forced an amused snort in reply. Tension strangled his last words as his muscles suddenly corded into stark relief. “Not even... any... foreplay?” When he started screaming a few seconds later, Laar opened his eyes to watch.

* * *

Eight hours later, Laar stood rooted to the same spot, still at rigid attention. Tears streaked his otherwise impassive face. They had stopped on several occasions while the medunit provided emergency care to keep Aliik alive. It had to resuscitate him once. At another point the interrogator left for two hours, before returning with his damnable questions, but the corrupted medunit went on with its pitiless task. The Ubese was good. Asking innocuous things to try to get answers started. Laar was better.

“Your brother called you Laar yesterday. This is a nickname? What does it mean?”

“Private. Ar-Cee-Aught-One-Two-Six.”

“What’s your favourite colour, Laar?”

“Private. Ar-Cee-Aught-One-Two-Six.”

Eventually, the session ended.  Aliik was dumped on the grate and sluiced off. The droids left with their master. Laar took a hesitant, unsteady step towards his brother, expecting the stuncuffs to punish him… but they remained quiescent and he rushed to Aliik’s side, collapsing next to him on legs that he didn’t think could have held him another minute.

“ _Vod_?”

Aliik had to take a deep breath to get enough air to hiss an answer. “ _Ni su’cuyi_.”

“ _Jate_.” He reached out his hands, settling a few fingertips on his brother’s trembling shoulder to remind him that he wasn’t alone.

Aliik reached up, grabbing Laar’s hand and holding on for dear life.

* * *

Days passed in that vein. They were rousted at random intervals. Laar was stunned into submission while Aliik was collected and returned to the table, given a modicum of medical attention, then made to scream and writhe and beg for hours. He didn’t try to keep quiet. He didn’t try to be stoic. He made enough noise that he couldn’t hear the questions being asked on the other side of the room. He put on a good show for the interrogator.

And Laar watched. And Laar recited. He accepted his choices and their consequences without complaint and without expression. And he became too dehydrated for tears.


	5. 14:4:28

They lay huddled together in the darkness. Aliik was sleeping or unconscious. Laar was curled around him, trying to offer what little warmth he had. He could no longer deny that the sniper’s leg had finally truly gone bad. The stench was overwhelming. The tech was trying to decide whether to end it now, or offer them something in exchange for his brother’s life. If they weren’t watched, it wouldn’t be hard to kill him… but the questions they were asking were pointless. The rest of the squad was offworld by now. If they came back, the exit strategy would have changed.

He knew that was how they wanted him to think. He knew that once he answered one question, the next one would be easier. He knew that everyone who broke this way told himself, ‘But I won’t tell them anything _really_ important.’ He decided to try anyway, convinced that he didn’t _know_ anything _really_ important. If they didn’t give him what he wanted for what he had to give… the hose would still be there tomorrow. With any luck he’d work out a way to take care of himself after he’d finished with Aliik.


	6. 14:4:29

Laar was struggling to move Aliik’s leadened limbs through motion exercises again when the cuffs sent him sprawling.

This time, even after the fluids and the drugs, the sniper’s head lolled loosely on the table, his hands lay unmoving at his sides. Laar hoped he wasn’t too late.

“What was the designation of your unit?”

He hoped this guy really was Ubese. He wouldn’t want to hate an entire race for an imposter. “Kusa… Ska…” He coughed roughly and tried again with no better results.

“It’s alright, son. We’ll get you some water.” A few minutes later one of the ridiculous B-1s came in with a pitcher of water, a single cup and a plate piled with wedges of what appeared to be unleavened bread. Laar smiled bitterly to watch a weapon playing waiter. It set the tray on a table and turned to await further instruction.

“Be gone.”

“Roger, roger,” came the expected reply before it strode away.

The interrogator poured a cup of water and placed it in Laar’s bound hands. He briefly entertained a fantasy of beating the man to death with the pitcher, but instead he merely smiled a tiny smile into the cup as he drank.

When the cup was empty, he quietly cleared his throat once more and spoke with great care, his voice rasping like an old man’s. “Kusak Squad. My unit is Kusak squad. It’s made up of four clones: me, twenty-seven, twenty-five, and twenty-eight. I’m tech. Twenty-seven is extractions and eliminations. Twenty-five is command. Twenty-eight is heavy weapons and demolitions. The exit plan was pretty unsophisticated. Meet up at the extraction point at a certain time and a ship would come for us. I had the EP as a coordinate, but I can’t remember it. I’ve suffered a concussion and been stunned and electrocuted a few times since then. But it was in the middle of your new hot zone. I had all our RVs as coordinates…” He shook his head helplessly. “Twenty-five kept track of back-ups. They came to us on need to know. We would’ve met at an RV and been briefed on the new scenario.” He held out his empty cup. “Laar means song, and my favourite colour is copper. Please. Help Twenty-seven.”

The helmeted head nodded graciously. “Medic, the subject just became a patient. Treat him accordingly. See, Laar? We could have been behaving in such a civilized manner all along. I hope that our future exchanges can be as profitable. And I do hope your memory should restore itself.”

“Do they hand out grammaries when you enlist as a Sep? You all sure do talk pretty. Or, maybe it’s from hanging out with so many droids…”

The interrogator shook its head as it turned away and made its exit. Laar poured himself another glass of water and watched the medunit carefully, wondering just how much of its programming they corrupted. “So. Since I’m next of kin, does that mean you have to keep me updated?”

“Only on Khomm is cloning considered a basis for familial relationship.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Not at all. However, on some systems you would be considered the same entity, by which assertion I would be required to keep you informed as though you yourself were my patient. I believe there was one medical law case on Ashtuan VII wherein a living physician was brought up under informed consent statutes when one clone died as the result of complications from a procedure that another had not been informed was to take place. The wrongful death charge was eventually waived but the physician was instead convicted of maiming or disfigurement.”

“I don’t suppose this system is one of those.”

“Not at all. In fact, cloning is seen here as an abomination, an affront to their barbaric gods. You have no rights on this world, medical or legal. Were you discovered here by the local populace you would be exterminated outright unless a native in good standing were to speak for you, in which scenario you would be exiled off planet.”

Well. That wasn’t in the pre-op briefing. “Huh. Us with no rights. Imagine that. All this is really just to ask how Twenty-seven is.”

“That was a very inefficient means of asking a very simple question.”

“Yeah? Well, that’s a very inefficient means of answering one.”

The droid’s head turned his way for a moment. “I have not been instructed to regard you as next of kin, nor to keep you briefed on my patient’s status.” His sensors returned to monitoring the task of cutting the dead flesh away from the clone’s leg.

“Well that’s just stupid. The whole reason you’re treating him is so I’ll talk more next time. It’s illogical to keep me uninformed.”

“You have no business speaking of logic. You just subjected this being to five days and nine sessions of torment, only to determine now, when it may be too late to sustain its life, that it is more valuable than your knowledge. Were you a logical being, you would have assigned worth on the first day. If the human was the more valuable, you would have spoken then. If the knowledge was more valuable, you would not have spoken now.”

“’ _His_ life,’ ‘ _He_ is more valuable,’ Don’t you call my brother, ‘it.’” Laar’s voice growled past clenched teeth. The medunit’s assessment had him seeing red and hearing the blood rush through his ears as he struggled against his desire to rip the droid apart with his bare hands. It wouldn’t be profitable, for one thing, and for another, he was probably far too weak to accomplish the task. “And he’s still alive, so it’s not too late to sustain his life.”

The droid looked up at him again, its scalpels still working diligently. “I apologize. I had assumed, based on your physiologic reactions during my initial briefing on the subject’s condition, that you had some rudimentary medical knowledge of the processes I was describing to my master. Following that assumption, it seemed clear that you would realize that the subject’s condition will have deteriorated significantly over five days with minimal care… Care that was countered in every way by the persuasive techniques I was forced to employ.”

“Shouldn’t you watch what you’re doing?” He swore he heard an exasperated sigh as the droid turned back to Aliik.

He sat on a nearby table and watched for a long time, drinking half the water and nibbling at a wedge of bread. “He’s been so cold for days. Shouldn’t you get him a thermal blanket, or something?”

“Surely you heard me mention hypovolemia. If I were to warm him dramatically at this point, blood would rush from his brain and viscera to his peripheral vascular system, robbing those critical organs of oxygen and killing him. The fluids and blood replacers that I have administered have been insufficient.”

“You could transfuse him.”

It looked up once more. “You are in no condition to donate blood. You are dehydrated. Malnourished. Your own wounds are showing signs of infection.”

Laar shrugged. “Yeah. But I’m not your patient. And considering we got our infections in the same place, isn’t it likely they’re the same infection?”

It regarded him a moment before returning its attention to its patient. Eventually, the B1 marched back in with a stack of folded cloth and a small case that looked a little like a medpack.

“Leave them,” the medunit ordered, mimicking its answering “Roger, roger,” in a sing-song voice laced with derision.

It began speaking again as it placed a clean white bandage on Aliik’s stump. “This limb needs to be disarticulated at the joint, but it is impossible to ensure that the patient wouldn’t haemorrhage with manipulation of the numerous major vessels involved in such a procedure. The battle droid brought you garments and thermal blankets. It also brought a field transfusion kit. You will eat a minimum of two nutrient wedges and get your core temperature up to within one degree of normal if you wish to donate blood to my patient.”

It zipped over to Laar and gave him two rapid injections in the arm before he could jerk away. “Ow! What was that?”

“Broad spectrum antibiotics. Do not act like an infant. You endured the nasal fracture with more grace.”

The tech rummaged in the stack that the battle droid brought and pulled on the bright blue trousers, awkwardly draping the tunic over his shoulders. The garments were both surprisingly comfortable, if a little unsightly.

“I am going to disable your stuncuffs. You will remove them, put on your tunic, and replace the cuffs. If you attempt to do anything else, the subdual system in the floor will be activated. Unfortunately, if the floor is activated, I have no way to stop the electricity from affecting Ar-Cee-Aught-One-Two-Seven. Given that his current cardiac dysrhythmia is not ventricular fibrillation, electrocution could be catastrophic.”

The indicator light on the cuffs went out and Laar did exactly as instructed. With the cuffs back on, he grabbed his prescribed two nutrient wedges and ate them. A few minutes later he was rushing to the grate, retching violently until he sank to the floor, panting with exhaustion.

“That is a common side effect of eating too rapidly after any considerable period of starvation. So as not to waste your limited rations, I would suggest eating much more slowly. Or perhaps making a pap, which with a high enough water content, would be easier on your strained system.”

Laar glared up at the droid, wiping the back of one hand across his mouth and resisting the urge to spit the foul taste from his mouth. Weakly, he clambered back to his feet and made his way to Aliik’s side. He bent to press his forehead to the sniper’s, closing his eyes and relishing the sensation of his brother’s breath against his cheek. “ _Oya_ , _ner vod_.”

He padded back to the other table, draping both blankets around his shoulders and struggling to collect the tray. Returning to the other clone’s side, he settled himself on the floor beside the table and began diligently mashing up a couple of nutrient wedges and mixing them with a little water in his cup. Slowly, he drank down the thin gruel, then leaned back against the table and let the exhaustion claim him. 


	7. 14:4:30

Laar was surprised to drift back to wakefulness on his own. He drank a mouthful of water from the pitcher and climbed painfully to his feet to check on Aliik. His brother lay curled on one side, dressed in the same garish blue, an unbound arm draped across his face to shield his eyes from the glare of the spotlight. When the tech touched his arm, he looked up at him, stricken.

“What did you tell them?”

He voice was flat as he answered. “Unit designation. Clone designations and functions. Exit strategy. Meaning of Laar. Favourite colour.”

The sniper rolled onto his back, away from his brother, covering his face with both hands. “Force, _ner_ _vod_. I was so kriffing _proud_ of you.”

Laar stood there in silence for a long while. Eventually, the medunit came and bioscanned them both.

“Ar-Cee-Aught-One-Two-Six, you may be stable enough to donate blood, if you wish to lie on the table behind you.”

“Call me Twenty-six. Or Laar. I’m getting tired of hearing the whole thing. Feels like I’m going on report or something.” He turned and padded to the table, struggling a little to climb atop it.

“Please place your ankles in the binders… Thank you. I am deactivating your stuncuffs. If you could place your right arm in the binder and extend your left arm out to your side.”

He complied, staring numbly at the ceiling as the medunit inserted the large bore needle in a vein at the bend of his elbow.

“You are far less garrulous today, Twenty-six. Is this due to a lessening of delirium, or is something wrong?”

Laar chuckled at the absurdity of the question. “Nope. Nothing’s wrong. I’ve got water. Nutrient wedges that make me puke. Antibiotics. Clothes. A lovely set of stuncuffs.”

“I do believe you are being sarcastic.”

“Glad that came across. I’m not generally the sarcastic one. Wasn’t sure I could pull it off.”

The transfusion was done in half a standard hour without the need for the usual protocols to prevent rejection or monitor for reaction.

The remainder of the day was spent in silence, with the medunit returning at intervals to monitor its patient or administer additional medications.


	8. 14:4:31

Night fell. Dawn broke. The interrogator returned.

“I hope you had a pleasant day of rest.”

Laar just stared at him emotionlessly.

“Oh, please don’t tell me we’re going to revert to our prior relationship. I thought we had moved beyond that.”

The tech dropped his eyes and shook his head.

He could hear the smile in the modulated voice as the interrogator continued. “Good. Why don’t you tell me about the Jedi today?”

“Jedi? Crazy philosopher-wizards that were promoted to generals after the Seps killed a bunch of them on Geonosis. They have superpowers. They lead slaves and children into battle. What else you wanna know?”

“An interesting description. But I was wanting to know about _your_ Jedi. The Jedi with Kusak Squad. I understand that two were sighted, but I’m most interested in the one with the red lightsaber.”

“I don’t know how familiar you are with the GAR set up. But the Jedi are typically in charge of Cee-Tees. They get a little… squeamish about some of the things us Ar-Cees have to do to achieve an objective. And I’m pretty sure red sabres are more of a Sep fad. I know your Duke and his bitch carry them.”

An arm swept out of the dark robes and the back of an armoured hand caught the tech’s jaw, spinning him to the ground.

“Mind your tongue, clone. You will be respectful of your betters.”

Laar spat blood out on the permacrete, muttering, “Better at what?” and deciding to stay on the floor.

“Being quite familiar with the generals in command of the regular troops in my sector, I feel very certain that the pale Jedi with the red sabre is not working in conjunction with our local ‘Cee-Tees’ as you call them.

“Yeah. ‘Cause those wacky republicans couldn’t send in reinforcements? I’m sorry. I just can’t believe that you know so little about Jedi that you think they would run with an outfit like mine.”

“And I just can’t believe that you underestimate me so dramatically. You speak of the moral divide between yourself and the Jedi, and yet while you endeavoured mightily to deceive me, you refuse to lie to me. Tell me outright that you didn’t have Jedi attached to your operation. Tell me that you don’t know a Jedi with a red-bladed sabre. Stop mincing words.”

Laar hadn’t even realized how he’d danced around the truth. He was amused to have it pointed out to him. He shrugged. “I didn’t have a Jedi attached to my operation. I don’t know a Jedi with a red-bladed sabre. Is that unambiguous enough for you? But now you’ll just accuse me of lying. That’s how these things go, and that’s why they’re ineffective.

“You finally get me to tell you everything I know. But I can’t give you the information you want. Because you’re a liar, you can’t trust me to be honest. So now you’ll go back to torture. Me or Twenty-seven. Maybe both. Eventually, I’ll go beyond telling you everything I know. I’ll move on to telling you everything you want to hear, but since I don’t know it, I’ll have to make it up. Since you’ll’ve finally forced me to lie to you, it’ll bring into question the legitimate intel I gave you from the beginning. Where’s your victory condition? It’s a zero-sum game.”

“You think you’re very clever, don’t you? You lie to me, then put the onus on me for my supposed inability to believe. Instead, why don’t you think carefully about your initial response when I asked about the Jedi? I’m fully aware that our situation isn’t optimized to promote feelings of fraternity, but think about your relationship with the Jedi. Or better yet, think about all of your brothers’ relationships with the Jedi. The CIS is fighting for freedom. The GAR is fighting with slaves. How can you look me in the eye and tell me your side is right?”

“You aren’t fighting for freedom. You’re fighting for an end to the Republic. You may think that’s freedom, but true freedom includes the choice to remain in the Republic.”

“An eleven year old slave wants to lecture me on the true meaning of freedom.”

“Outsider’s perspective, and all that. Far less ironic than the word fraternity from the man that spent a week torturing my brother.”

“Touché. You are nothing at all like what I expected.”

“We never are.”

“It didn’t initially occur to me to use him against you to such an extent. I thought you would end his suffering, not five days into interrogation, but when you first found him hanging there. I knew enough of your bonds to know it would hurt you immensely to do so, but I never doubted that you would. I was led to believe that Fett’s clones were all imminently practical. I didn’t expect you to put such a weapon in my hands. In truth, I both admire and revile you for it.

“I watched you exhaust yourself for three days, supporting him. Such a strange combination of strength and weakness. And your composure throughout the sessions: your refusal to allow yourself even the comfort of collapse while your brother suffered before you… It still amazes me that you were able to stand so long in your condition… and your refusal to look away.” He paused, shaking his head. “I was amused by your banter before we started, when you called him the lucky one. I wonder if he knows the truth of that statement.”

Laar’s eyes flashed over to Aliik, who lay on his table some distance behind the interrogator, staring back intently, his face expressionless.

The interrogator sighed. “If you won’t tell me about your Jedi, what will you tell me this morning? With what coin will you buy another day?”

The tech looked up at him helplessly. “I don’t have anything. I could share some amusing anecdotes of my brief childhood… or thrilling tales of heroics and adventure on the Outer Rim.” He spread his hands. “What can I do? What’ll you do?”

“That’s very disappointing. I realize that you’re merely a private – after all, you’ve told me so several thousand times, at least… but I had hoped that, given the singular nature of your unit, you would be of more use to me.” He started toward the blast door, speaking to a pair of B2s that were entering. “Put ‘Twenty-seven’ back on the chain.”

Laar lurched to his feet and surged forward, lifting his hands to strike at the interrogator, but the stuncuffs dropped him. He lay on the floor, unable to turn his head as the super battle droids carried his struggling brother out of his range of vision.

* * *

The interrogator left. The droids left. Even the light left. It was a long time before Laar was able to rise onto his knees.

Aliik saw the movement in the dim light of waning day. He voice was breathy. “You know better, _vod_. We stick to RNN for a reason. If you open a dialogue, you have to listen. You start listening and they get inside your head.”

Slowly, the tech hauled himself to his feet. He could hear the sniper’s shallow breathing from across the room, and he started that way. When he got within two meters, the stuncuffs hit him.

“ _Nayc_ ,” he growled, refusing the sensation and continuing, trying to rush forward. An instant later, he found himself on his elbows and knees, panting and crawling. When he couldn’t continue, he rolled onto his back, looking up at his brother as he lost all use of his limbs. The cuffs didn’t stop.

Within ten minutes, Aliik was shouting for help. An hour later, he was hanging limp, panting for breath. 


	9. 14:4:32

It was just after dawn when the interrogator came back with his B2s, the GH-7, the EG-6 and its spotlight. One of the B2s dragged Laar’s convulsing form out of the cuffs’ trigger zone as the other returned Aliik to the table.

The interrogator stood over the tech, watching as he tried to cough. “You would do well to pay heed next time. It starts at a weaker setting to prevent just such an unfortunate occurrence.” He turned to watch the medunit whirl around the sniper. “I’ll be back in a few hours, Laar. You can let me know then what sort of attention you would like the droid to bestow upon your brother.”

* * *

When the interrogator returned, Laar hadn’t moved except to roll onto his side to hack out some of the saliva he’d inhaled the night before. His breath rattled in his chest and when he started to talk, he had to pause frequently for breath.

“The Jedi goes by Alor... I don’t know his species... Human? Near-human? I don’t know why his sabre’s red... He’s the best melee combatant… I’ve ever seen… Even better… than little Skywalker.” He closed his eyes, concentrating on moving the air in and out of his chest.

“It has always seemed incongruous to me that an order dedicatedly so staunchly to peace is so very good at war.”

Laar choked on his laughter and got caught up in a fit of coughing. Finally he was able to speak again. “If they were… ‘so very good… at war…’ you and I… wouldn’t be here… right now.”

The interrogator chuckled and nodded his head. “Touché. You are clearly in no shape for conversation right now, though you’re giving an admirable effort. I expect an equal effort when I return.”

After the interrogator made his exit, the tech turned to look towards his brother. “ _Vod_?”

“ _Ni su cuyi_ I was better as soon as they got me down. Not convinced my hands’ll ever be the same… What about you? You gave me a heart attack last night.”

The medunit seemed alarmed. “There is no evidence of a myocardial infarction. What symptoms did you exhibit?”

“It’s a figure… of speech...,” Laar informed the droid before answering his brother, “I’m not sure my… nervous system… will ever be… the same…” The medunit whirred over, bioscanning Laar.

“Is your aspiration pneumonia also a figure of speech?” It shook its head in a very human gesture of frustration. “Can you sit up?”

He struggled upright, but couldn’t stay there. After a few moments effort, he got his back to a table and the droid offered him a small canister of bubbling green liquid capped with a breath mask.

“Put this over your mouth and nose… Good. Breath as deeply as you can until the bacta solution is gone.”

He did as he was told, and the medunit sped back to Aliik’s side, where the sniper was sitting upright on the table, his leg dangling off the side.

Laar’s spirits lifted to see his brother looking so well.

The sniper watched the droid for a few minutes before asking casually, “Can he hear everything we say?”

Alarmed again, the GH spun in a tight circle. “Well. Only when he’s listening.”

He considered that a moment before shrugging and continuing. “Laar knows droids. He takes care of our EMAD2.”

“You know an Endoscopic Medical Assistant?!”

“Yeah. Endo’s top of the line. He helps our medic tend the squad. Laar there does all of his maintenance and upgrades. They keeping track of your maintenance here? QC? Latest technology? Journal findings? All that?”

“Of course not. I merely came with the facility. A droid army does not have a pressing need for medical droids. In fact, they have cannibalized all of my counterparts for spare servomotors and such. If they had not finally found a way to break the fail-safes protecting my physician’s code programming, I am quite certain that I, too, would be on the scrap heap.”

Laar paid close attention to the exchange, smiling into his bacta canister. Aliik was back to his old self. His infiltrator’s mind was taking control of the situation. The tech was feeling confident that they would be on their way out of here soon.

“Yeah… speaking of the facility, what is this place?”

“This place?” It turned slowly, taking in the dank room. “This place is a perversion… Assuming you mean to ask what it was, the compound was a medical university. This room was used for autopsies and wet labs. I am quite certain you can tell that they have made some modifications.”

“I see. You know, I bet Laar would be glad to do some diagnostics and general maintenance on you, if you’d like. He’ll just need the tools.”

The medunit whirled back to face the other clone, its photoreceptors suddenly brighter. Laar offered a thumbs-up.

* * *

Early that afternoon, the droid smuggled in some tools and Laar spent several hours providing general maintenance to it and the EG-6.

“I do wish you would just tell him what he wants to know. Eventually, he is going to change your designations from patients to subjects. I think I would prefer the scrap heap.”

Laar looked at it incredulously. “You’ve been through this before, right?” He took a few ragged breaths, but he was doing much better after the bacta.

“Of course I have.”

“Well, what happens when the subjects tell him what he wants to know?”

“Why, he lets them go. What else would he do?”

The clones shared a look and Aliik spoke up. “Did you see him let them go? Did he tell you he let them go?”

The medunit turned back and forth between them. “Well, no, but…” It paused, sensors brightening then dimming. “He euthanized them?”

Laar snorted. “I doubt they would’ve characterized it quite like that.”

* * *

They‘d stowed the tools under the hose coiled by the far wall. Sitting against alternate walls of a corner, they listened to a storm raging outside the window as they snacked on the remaining nutrient wedges and took sparing sips of water.

Aliik broke their tense silence. “So, see anything you can work with?”

“Between the two droids and the spotlight, I can rig a primitive energy weapon. With a power droid to work with, I can make something that packs a pretty good punch. It’ll be awkward, trying to build it with the cuffs… but with an extra set of hands, we’ll manage. Most important things will be building it fast and not missing with it. We got nowhere to hide it while we work on it, and we get one shot before he takes me down.”

“Yeah. One thing. You got one droid and a spotlight to work with.”

Laar was baffled. “Huh?”

“You’re not using the GH.”

“That thing tortured you for five days!”

“And it saved my life. Probably yours too.”

“We would be doing it a kriffing favour! You heard it! It would ‘prefer the scrap heap!’”

“We’re taking it with us. And if you don’t stop shouting, none of this will matter.”

Laar’s mouth snapped closed on whatever reply he was about to throw back, and he glowered furiously at the plate of wedges as Aliik continued.

“If it doesn’t come with us, what are you going to do with me, Laar? We don’t have an exit strategy. We don’t have armour, weapons, medpacs, comlinks, rations. We have nothing. I can’t walk. You’re too weak to carry me. The droid knows this place. It can help us. We don’t know if the others made it off world. They could’ve been taken out in the firefight or at any time since then. They may be under new orders that won’t let them come back for us. We’re on our own. We _need_ that droid. You aren’t going to butcher it _and_ our chances because you feel guilty about me being tortured.”

Laar jerked like he’d been slapped and his eyes found his brother’s intense gaze. Aliik leaned forward, planting his hands on Laar’s shoulders and squeezing.

“That stuff I said earlier? It was Vau talking. Except for insisting on keeping me alive, you’ve done _everything_ right. You held out until your hand was forced. It made him respect you. You answered his questions without telling him _anything_. Your dialogue distracted him from everything you _weren’t_ saying. You saved my life, and you gave me two days to get strong enough to help you. But without that droid, those two days would’ve just seen me dead. Do _this_ right, too, _ner vod_.”

The tech nodded, emotion robbing him of the ability to make any other reply.

Aliik nodded back, his haggard face splitting into a vivid grin as he let go and settled against the wall. “Alright. After he comes and goes tomorrow, we build it. Then we show him why Jango Fett was chosen to make the perfect soldier.”

“Force, Aliik. You sound like Cabur.”

The sniper barked an indignant laugh as thunder crashed overhead. “And you sound like a mongrel. Now give us a song.” 


	10. 14:4:33

They were still there in the morning when the interrogator returned, slumped together in the corner, Laar snoring loudly because of the swelling from his broken nose.

“Well isn’t this just cosy.” They started fully awake, staring up at him. “‘Twenty-seven?’ I believe that your doctor desires to see you.”

Laar stood, offering his brother a hand up. Once Aliik got his foot under him, he draped an arm over the tech’s shoulder and they started towards the table.

“Eh eh eh, Laar. He can make his own way over there. If he’s sound enough to forego his fluid therapy for the night, he must be doing quite well indeed. Our little droid is truly a wonder, is it not?”

Laar growled under his breath until Aliik cut the sound off with a glare, muttering, “Just help me back down. It’s fine.”

Easing the sniper back down to his hands, he watched in outrage as his brother crawled across the floor. Aliik’s face contorted with pain as he hauled himself onto his foot then up onto the table. Laar took a deep breath and schooled his features before turning back to the interrogator.

“Incredible. That man was at death’s door two days ago. Is it truly my droid or is it in your DNA?”

Laar shrugged. “Your droid knows its stuff, but we’re Ar-Cees. Every minute of every day of our lives has been geared towards making us the toughest humans in the galaxy. What did you want to know about Alor? Your questions weren’t exactly specific, but I doubt you care about his favourite colour…” He grinned insolently. “Or I guess you do, but you may already know it.”

“Watch yourself, clone. You don’t want to try me when you’ve been doing so well. What forms has he mastered?”

The tech looked startled. He hadn’t expected a question so… jedicentric. He wondered if the interrogator really expected him to know, or if he thought to set him up for failure. “Juyo. Vapaad, Makashi, Trakata, Shien, and Ataru, but mostly the first three.”

The interrogator was silent a long moment. “Juyo and Vapaad are two sides of a coin. There have only been three masters of Vapaad in the brief time since it was developed. One of those dances daily with the dark, the other two have fallen already. Trakata is a technique, not a form. But you expect me to believe this Jedi has _mastered_ four of the seven forms?”

Laar shrugged. “Hey. You clearly know more about this form stuff than I do.”

“What else can he do?”

“What, with a sabre? What _can’t_ he do?”

“No. With the Force.”

“Oh. I don’t know.” He frowned thoughtfully, but he didn’t think any of this could truly be hurtful to Alor. “He glows sometimes. I never quite understood that one. He can move stuff around, same as most of them…” He shook his head, genuinely unable to come up with anything further.

“So he is a Guardian.”

Laar shook his head once more, unfamiliar with the term in this context.

“What of the other? Or shall you try to draw your charade out again?”

The clone looked puzzled. “Are you talking about his apprentice?” Distaste flitted across his features. “She’s a Cloner. Not much of a fighter. Medic.”

“A Kaminoan padawan? I hadn’t heard that. Fascinating…” He rose and nodded almost genially as he departed.

Laar watched him leave, eyebrows high. “Okay. That was… discomfiting.”

Aliik nodded in agreement. “Yeah. Let’s get to work.”

The tech headed over to the power droid and the light. “I’ve got to inventory parts and work up a schematic before we dismantle these things and lose our light. You stay there with your fluids for a while longer.”

The sniper frowned down at him, but obeyed.

* * *

“Alright. I can jack the EG-6 into the room’s lighting while I dismantle the spotlight. I can pretty much build everything from it, and we’ll just need the Gonk to juice it up, so we’ll have light until we’re ready to go.”

“I am quite certain that this is not routine maintenance.” The medunit whirled around the scene as the floor filled with dismantled electronics.

Aliik sat up, propping himself on one elbow. “Hey, Medic, come here.” When it stopped at his side, he continued. “We all know you aren’t an IT-O. When Laar was cleaning you up, he removed the routines they added that made you obedient to the CIS. You’re an Indy now. We’re leaving, and if you want to come with us, we could sure use the help… I know Endo would love to meet you.”

It hovered there, silent for several long moments before replying warily. “In what capacity would you expect my help?”

“We don’t expect anything. We hope you can help us find our way out and maybe direct us to a vehicle. If you want to stay with us, we’d like you to perform your primary function. Neither of us is exactly healthy.”

“I concur with your assessment of your condition, and I would be pleased to continue to serve as your physician. In fact, I am honoured that you would make that request of me, considering the unpleasant nature of our earliest acquaintance.”

“Like I told, Laar. You saved my life.”

* * *

They finally had to cut the light and channel the power through their pulse cannon. Laar sat with the weapon across his knees, tinkering as the medunit hovered at his elbow, optic sensors providing what little light they had. Aliik dozed on the table, scratching idly at the tape that held his IV in place.

“I have arranged for transportation out of the compound. I have an ambushuttle with a hoverchair prepped, but the shuttle is not hyperdrive equipped, and I fear that if we take it out of atmosphere we would attract a great deal of attention.

“This portion of the compound is very sparsely populated because of infrastructure damage that makes it impossible to keep the power running for long. The droids stationed here have suffered severe losses in recent weeks due to increased action throughout the sector. Many of those that weren’t eliminated in the battle you stumbled into have been transferred to bases with a higher degree of strategic importance.

“In fact, I believe that this compound only remains operational because of my ma… because of the interrogator’s personal fondness for it, and because the set up in this room was ideal for the detention and interrogation of high risk prisoners.”

The tech glanced up from his work. “Aliik was right about you. Do you have an individual designation?”

“I do not. None of the automated staff were given individual designations. It was determined that we would better function as a cohesive unit without them.”

“If you stick with us, you’ll need one. We don’t buy into this whole lack of individuality thing that the galaxy wants to shove down our throats. My unit, we all took Mando’a names. Most people would call them nicknames… words that mean something to us or describe something about us… But they’re our names.

“You heard me tell the interrogator, mine means song? I love music. I hear it in everything. In a firefight, I turn off my mic and sing as loud as I can. Somehow every blastershot, every detonation, every cry fits in just so. I’ve never figured how it works out that way, but it always does.

“Aliik, his name means sigil. He got the name because he always leaves his mark. Originally, it just meant that he always made his shot, but he’s taken it to heart. He painted up his bucket with that krayt mantid on his face. He’s collected a few pieces of armour from other brothers that are marching far away… pieces that they’d decorated somehow. He’d talked about wearing them, but Alor was keeping them for him at the Temple, since we don’t have real barracks or anything.

“I’m glad they weren’t here with him, this trip. He would’ve hated to leave them behind…” He fell back into silence as the droid watched him work.

“What is the Mando’a word for free?”

He turned and grinned up at it. “ _Mav_. That’s a good one.”

“Mav…,” it echoed. 


	11. 14:4:34

Dawn began to trickle in the windows. Mav was rapidly replacing Aliik’s bandage after giving him a few final doses and removing his IV. A crutch cobbled together from parts of the light casing leaned against the table at his side.

 Laar was checking over the cannon. He’d named the design a tripsee for triple C: Crippled Clone Cannon. As he awkwardly fiddled with the connection to the power droid, he spoke quietly. “Alright. When everyone’s ready, Mav’s going to disable the stuncuffs. That should bring our interrogator in to see what’s what. We drop him, then make a run for it.

“I wanna remind you that this thing’s gonna burn out fast. Not a single part of it is made to channel this much power… I’m pretty sure that when that happens, it’ll just stop working, but don’t stand too close, just in case.”

A few minutes later, they decided that they were ready. Laar nodded to Mav, who nodded back.

Several minutes passed. The cuffs’ indicator light stayed on. Everyone exchanged looks verging on panic when they heard the muted clang of footsteps on the other side of the blast door.

“Kriff!” Laar hauled the cannon up, cradled in the loop of his bound arms, its butt against his sternum, barrel swinging towards the door. “Take cover!”

Aliik grabbed his crutch and dropped behind the table, holding the crutch like a weapon. Mav shot away, moving so that the opening blast door shielded him from view.

The interrogator strode in, every line of his posture screaming fury. At his heel strode four B2s, what he considered a ridiculous amount of firepower to bring to bear against two, crippled, unarmed clones and an errant medical droid. He saw the weapon and dove to the side.

With his limited visibility, Laar aimed in the general direction of the droids’ photoreceptors and fired. The cannon discharged with a roar, flinging him back against the table with a sickening crack. He sank to the ground. He couldn’t breathe to cry out. He couldn’t see after the flash of the cannon. He hoped he kept it pointed at the same spot and he fired again.

The cannon bucked in his arms. Its barrel sizzled, a red hot beacon in the darkness.  Before him, he heard the groan of metal against metal. The hiss of servomotors failing. It was a glorious song. But above the rushing cadence of his heart, he still heard another beat. Impossibly, footsteps clattered nearer, a blaster went off in front of him, its beam splattering into the table above his head, showering him with molten rain.

The snap-hum of a lightsaber igniting, a blade of red, ahead and to his right: his heart soared. Alor had made it. He fired once more.

Aliik watched carefully as the cannon illuminated the scene, once, twice, three times. He fought his instincts, forcing himself to trust that Laar could handle the B2s. He ignored the effect their dreadful cannon was having on his brother. Instead, he watched the interrogator dive aside. Watched him roll up into a crouch and conjure a hilt from the depths of his robes. Watched it flare to life, a streak of bloody light immerging from his armoured fist.

The interrogator had eyes only for Laar. He’d forgotten or dismissed the other clone. When the fourth shot emitted only a rumbling cough and a puff of acrid smoke, he watched Laar’s arms sink into his lap. Watched the cannon dip forward and tumble partway into the floor, pulling cooked skin with it.

He straightened and strode forward without haste, even when the Force warned him of the danger, he could barely be bothered to turn and meet the crutch that was swinging toward his head. He raised his blade, slashing through the sad excuse for a club, but the clone reversed its momentum, bringing the crutch’s remains back and catching his sabre arm with the hook it formed. He finally turned to look at the maimed man and lifted a hand, gesturing as if swatting an insect as he summoned the Force to fling the imbecile away.

Turning back to Laar, he felt a sudden sting at the back of his neck, and he swung around, sabre leading the way. The blade passed just under the hovering medunit with its empty syringe. It tilted its head to regard him with clinical detachment as each muscle went rigid. A moment later, he collapsed, an eerie scream echoing out of his modulator.

It took Aliik a long time to crawl across the room. He picked up the dark, twisted hilt, examining it a moment before finding the switch that brought it hissing to life. He used the table to haul himself upright, and with a curl of his lip, he plunged the blade through the interrogator’s modulator until the permacrete below slowed its descent. He let go and the blade vanished as the hilt dropped onto its owner’s helmet with a clatter before rolling aside.

Mav was already tending to Laar, placing a chest tube to release air trapped outside a torn lung. Aliik sank down to his side and hauled the cannon out of his brother’s lap.

A hoverchair and gurney swept into the room and Mav burbled out a few lines of binary. The chair moved aside and the gurney settled on the floor at Laar’s side. Aliik was panting with effort after manoeuvring his brother onto the gurney. He lay back on the floor a moment until Mav rousted him.

“We need to move. There are still many more battle droids at this base. They may not have much initiative, but I would think it unwise not to expect one eventually.” Another jumble of beeps and hoots  from Mav, and the hoverchair glided up to Aliik. He climbed into it and fiddled with the controls a moment before moving to collect the only useable weapon that remained in the room. The sabre hilt felt odd in his hand.

* * *

They programmed the ambushuttle for their last RV coordinate, though it had expired days earlier and would take two more days to get there. 


	12. 14:4:35

They were cleaning the burns on Laar’s arms when he began to come around.

“Energy weapons aren’t supposed to kick,” he muttered, trying to lift his hands to his shattered chest for an instant before thinking better of it. “Where’s Alor?”

“It wasn’t him. It was the interrogator.”

Laar blinked blearily at him, taking a minute to understand through the fog of pain medication. “Kriffing Sith. That should’ve been obvious. Knew too much about forms. Anybody else notice that for being extinct, they sure do get around?”

“Yeah. Well. That one won’t be getting around anymore.”

The tech pursed his lips to whistle, but couldn’t manage the air pressure to make any noise. His mouth twisted in a wry smile as he weakly shook his head. “Damn, _ner vod_.”

Aliik raised his brows and shook his head back. “Not me.” He nodded toward Mav, who continued to work diligently, bandaging a burned hand. “I just stopped the screaming.”

Laar turned to watch the droid a moment, then grasped the droid’s hand. “Damn, _ner vod_.” 


	13. 14:5:1

They set the shuttle down under a pair of massive silverbarks and started broadcasting “GTL” in dadita on a few select frequencies. The code was a beautiful thing, just random bursts of static. They were hailed twelve hours later, Rang’s voice booming over the com. “Point of fact: I got a couple hounds slipped their leads in this area, I was hoping you folks might’ve seen somethin’.”

“Yeah. They had a little trouble with a dog catcher, but they’re ready to return to the pack.”

“Glad to hear it. Be ‘round to collect ‘em soon.”

A little over three hours later, there was a banging at the ramp. By far the most manoeuvrable, Mav was there before the commandos thought to stop him. Laar lurched to his feet as the ramp dropped to reveal the business ends of two DC17Ms and a half a score of DC15As. A perfectly timed chorus of “Tinny!” went up among the troopers as Aliik and Laar roared “Check!” at the top of their lungs. The 17s were pointed at the ground in an instant, but the 15s didn’t quiver. Mav’s three hands went up, even his biopsy probe. He was otherwise motionless as Laar staggered to his side.

“My _vod’ika_ here took out a dark Jedi less than three standard days ago. Any of you _really_ want to try him?” Weapons dipped, more in shock at Laar’s appearance than at his rasping words.

A commando helmet turned skyward to face the larty hovering half a click up. Cabur’s voice exploded out of his _buy’ce_ , “Get Buure down here! _Jii_!”

Rang had already dropped his deece and ripped off his bucket, starting up the ramp toward this phantom of his brother. “ _Ner vod_?”

Cabur began to follow as a long thin figure leapt from the ship above, blue robes flapping around her like immense wings. She landed in an elegant crouch before surging forward, followed by Alor in all his grace and dignity.

“Everybody back!” When Cabur issued an order, people obeyed. Mav and the CTs all stepped away from the ramp as Buure rushed aboard. Cabur’s eyes roved the clearing a brief moment before he found the droid. He pointed. “You. Inside.”

Buure took in her brothers’ conditions with miserable eyes before she turned to Laar as the far more critical of the two.

The commandos watched the Kaminoan at work. The silence was deafening.

A moment later, the pale, dashing duellist strode in. “MedEvac’s on its way.” He took a deep, calming breath as he looked at Aliik & Laar through the Force. “ _Ade_.”

Laar looked up at the Master Jedi and smiled. They were home. He closed his eyes and surrendered, letting Buure pull him into her trance.

Cabur made a content sound and turned to Aliik. “ _Me’ti_.”

Aliik started with a curt nod. “Woke up hanging by my wrists in a lightless room. Laar was manoeuvring me onto his shoulders to support my weight. By his reckoning we’d been there two or three days already with no contact, though he’d only been awake for one.

“Next morning, wakeup call came with a high pressure hose. Laar managed to save me a drink in the process of getting beaten half to death.

“I woke up again at midday. Same day? Mad with fever. He somehow climbed the chain and got me down.

“Next thing I know, I’m strapped to a table. Laar’s playing _mir’sheb_ with some Ubese bastard. You know the routine. Laar recites, I’m tortured. Ad infinitum.

“Next thing I remember, I’m waking up. Five days later? All medicated and bandaged. My thigh’s not rotting off anymore. All in all, a good morning, but I gave Laar a hard time over talking, even though all he told the guy was Kusak & RC numbers & his favourite colour. He bought us two days with that _ori’naas_.

“Next, the guy comes in asking about Jedi. Laar plays the commando card: ‘No Jedi here, no siree.’ They stun him into oblivion and string me back up. When he comes around, he tries to make it back to me, but they’ve got a trigger field around me, so he spends the night having seizures at my feet. I scream for them until I’m out from hypoxia.

“Next thing, I’m back on the table. Laar’s trying to talk, but he’s been breathing slobber all night. Apparently we get points for trying and the guy gave us the day. A few hours later, Doc’s got me feeling pretty good. I start chatting him up. Tell him Laar’s a techie. Doc treats Laar’s pneumonia and brings us some tools.

“Laar gives him a once over, spit and polish, wipes his restraint routines. Tinkers with the EG-6 they have powering a spotlight. Gets an idea for some suicidal, jawa-rigged cannon that he tags a tripsee.

“Next morning, Laar gives ‘im the _ori’naas_ on our _jetiise_. I swear you could see the grin through the barve’s helmet when he left. Built the tripsee that afternoon. Apparently while I was sleeping, Laar and Doc bonded. So now Doc’s named Mav. I don’t know if our Ubese friend had ears on or if he just got a bad feeling, but he jacked Mav’s ability to disengage Laar’s stuncuffs.

“So come morning, he barges in with four supers. We’ve got no light. Mav and I take cover. Laar starts blasting away with the tripsee, which we learn kicks like a bantha. He manages to take out the all the tinnies along with most of his ribs, one lung, and a fair stretch of skin by the time the tripsee dies, beats him unconscious or both. Right about then, the interrogator pops up with this.” He tossed the sabre to his sarge who glanced at it and passed it to the General.

“He makes like I’m not even there, just heads for Laar. I come at him with a jawa-rigged crutch. Of course, his sabre makes short work of it, leaving me a hook to foul his arm. He plays the Force card and flings me across the room as Mav sneaks up on his six and gives him a big ole dose of his own medicine.

“I’ll write the testimonial on blue torture juice. Works fast, works hard. He was down and screaming by the time I knew what for. Mav was patching Laar when I made it back over. I put the screamer out of our misery with his UCT. We loaded up and headed here.”

Cabur watched him, eyes haunted and furious. “What happened to the leg?”

Aliik shook his head. “Laar tells me I stepped on a mine. Last thing he remembers was tying off the artery.”

Rang surged back to his feet, pacing two steps back and forth in the confined space. “We got to the other side of that killing field and you were _no where_. Alor could only tell us you were alive. We’ve been monitoring frequencies all over this hemisphere for _thirteen days_. They didn’t drop a word about getting their hands on anyone.” Buure fidgeted in her trance. Alor frowned.

“Commando, sit _down_.” Rang’s head whipped towards Cabur as he dropped where he stood.

“Sorry, Sarge.”

Cabur nodded absently, locking Aliik’s gaze. The sniper hadn’t said outright that the medunit had served as a torture droid, but he’d imparted the information whether he meant to or not. Cabur’s chin jerked towards the little GH. “Laar said _vod’ika_ … _Tion kaysh mirsh solus_?”

“He saved our lives.”

“And that’s it.”

Aliik nodded. “He saved our lives.”

Cabur’s stern face split into an easy smile as he stood, offering the droid his hand. “ _Ner vod_. I’m Cabur.”

Rang didn’t stand again, but he offered his hand, too. “ _Ner vod_. Rang.”

Mav clasped hands with each, well aware of what just happened. “My name is Mav. It means free.”

Aliik smiled. “That it does.” 


	14. Glossary

**  
**Story and chapter titles in the Kusak Squad series are Great ReSynchronization calendar dates, following the year:month:day format.

 

** Mando’a **

**Ade** : sons/daughters

 **Aliik** : sigil (RC-0127)

 **Alor** : chief, boss (Jedi Master Q’Ateryn Jereth)

 **Buure** : short for **Buurenar** : storm (Padawan Buurenar Jetiika)

 **Cabur** : protector (RC-0125)

 **Dadita** : a simple code, like Morse

 ***GTL** : CQD/SOS (short hand for **Gaa’taylir** : Help)

 **Jate** : good

 **Jetiise** : Jedi (pl.)

 **Jii** : now

 **Laar** : song (RC-0126)

 **’Lek** : yeah (short for **Elek** : yes)

 ***Me’ti** : SitRep/Situation Report (short for **Me’vaar ti’gar** : what’s new with you)

 **Mando'a** : the language of the Mandalorians

 **Mir’sheb** : smartass

 **Nayc** : no

 **Ner** : my

 **Ni su’cuyi** : I’m still alive.

 ***Ori’naas** : BS ( **Ori** : big, **Naas** : nothing)

 **Oya** : var. here, stay alive

 **Oyacyir** : live

 **Rang** : ash (RC-0128)

 **Shebse** : butts, asses

 **Tad** : short for **E’tad** : seven (RC-0127)

 **Tayli’bac?** : Got it? Okay? Understand? (often very aggressive)

 **Tion kaysh mirsh solus?** : is he crazy?/is he an idiot?, lit. is his brain cell lonely?

 **Vod** : sibling, also used like bro/pal

 **Vode** : siblings

 **Vod’ika** : little sibling

 

** Galactic & Military Slang **

**Barve** : pig (lit, a small six legged animal raised for meat, noted for its uncleanliness)

 **DC-15a** : long range blaster rifle preferred by CTs.

 **DC-17m** / **DC-17m ICWS** : configurable combat weapons system used by RCs.

 **CIS** : Confederacy of Independent Systems

 **Click** : kilometre

 **CT** / **Cee-Tee** : Clone Trooper

 **EP** : extraction point

 **Kriff** : fuck

 **Larty** : LAAT/i: Low Altitude Assault Transport/infantry: republic attack gunship.

 **Sep** : separatist, member of or supporter of the CIS

 **SpecOps** : special operations

 **Supers** : B2 Super Battle Droids

 **Tinny** / **Tinnies** : droids

 ***RNN** : rank ’n’ number

 **RC** / **Ar-Cee** : Republic Commando

 **RV** : rendezvous or rendezvous point

 **UCT** : universal cutting tool (lightsaber)

 

** Other Definitions **

***Janteris** **:** a planet found in the Tarna System of the Outer Rim, noted only for xenophobia and fine textiles woven from their singular blue grasses.

 **Khomm** : a planet found in the Khomm system of the Deep Core. Khommites have used cloning as their sole method of reproduction since ~10 years after the Ruusan Reformation.

 **Kusak** : a canine species from Lok, noted for its fierce devotion to its master

 

 ***** these entries are my own, though if they are derived from Mando'a words, those words are C-canon or S-canon and compiled in Karen Traviss's Mando'a glossary.


End file.
